Lunch today with Carol at Deanes Deli. Still no sight of a decent decaf coffee, even in a pricey place like this. I know what you’re thinking.. I don’t deserve to have good coffee if I’m going to be ordering decaf, but dammit, decaf drinkers are people too!

Deanes Deli
44 Bedford St
Belfast
BT2 7FF

When we were at the St. George’s Market last week, we noticed one of the fish stalls was selling seaweed on the side. £1 bought you a little plastic bag of this deeply purple coloured stuff – a bargain that couldn’t be ignored.

The seaweed had a wonderful salty taste and was slightly chewy – kind of like how car tyres might turn out if they were left in a pressure cooker for a while – and I mean that in a nice way, because I like this seaweed. A mouthful of it brought back memories of being 9 or 10 at the beach, dressed in my red frilly swimming costume (the one with a silly pouch in the crotch area that would become heavy with stored sand the minute you stepped into the water), squinting in disgust every time seawater was accidentally gulped down.

Apart from eating it as a snack, this seaweed can also be fried as chips, or stirred into a chowder. I later found out that it’s also called dulse or even “sea parsley”, which has a nice ring to it.

No one else seemed very enthusiastic about snacking on our new purchase so I decided to turn it into a salad instead. The seaweed was blanched briefly so that it wouldn’t be excessively salty, and was then chopped roughly and tossed through some other ingredients : organic lettuce, sliced shallots, crispy bacon, and topped with a poached egg. The seaweed didn’t quite stand out in the end result, but instead added a texture variation and a little saltiness to the whole dish. I think the exercise was more an excuse to eat more bacon, really, because the bacon here is very very good.

On a musical note, last night we saw the Frames perform at the Ulster Hall. It was a rollicking good show that forced most of us up from our seats (I’m surprised they even had seats in the area that’s usually the dance floor/standing room section), dancing down the aisles, singing along to most of the tunes. I also liked how they weaved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and dEUS into their song, Star Star.

Excuse me while I silently jump up and down in glee, socks thumping the tiled floor of the kitchen, crumbs flying as I hold my bread trophy triumphantly aloft. Look at moy, look at mooyyy…

I have finally baked my first successful loaf of wheaten bread; a loaf which comes after many incredibly stolid unsuccessful attempts back home in Sydney. This success has been pulled out of the oven, duly admired, then sliced and gratefully buttered, and eaten with a sigh.

Why the obsession with a craggy-looking lump of bread? This staple of the B family breakfast table is elegant in it’s ugliness. I love it’s texture, chewiness and uneven, rustic appearance. When toasted, it ellicits an extra dimension of fragrant nuttiness. More importantly, I can’t seem to find it anywhere in Sydney and what you can’t have, you want more of. Not that I’m alone in these sentiments.

In the kitchen here, it’s become obvious why my loaves in Sydney didn’t quite work out. The buttermilk here seems to be lighter, with a nicer sour tang. The flour looks completely different; it’s flecked with larger brown wheaty flakes. The initial tricky bit was deciding which flour to get. Back in Sydney, there is usually only one type of wholemeal flour available on the shelf. Here in Belfast, there’s at least three, plus a flour specially for making wheaten bread with. I contemplate the cheat’s flour, which is composed of wholewheat flour, soft flour, baking soda and buttermilk powder. It’s a just-add-water version. If I walked down this lazy path now, there would be no chance of successfully replicating my results when I returned to Sydney, so instead I chose a “medium wholemeal” flour.

Combined and patted into a rough round shape, it is thrust into the heat, and I’m already envisioning ways of tweaking the recipe so that I can enjoy more of this bread back home.

[NB: While waiting for the beast to bake, we ran around the back garden, avoiding the apple cores and handfuls of week-old boiled cake that B’s mom had strewn over the lawn for feasting birds. B spotted tiny white mushrooms poking up from a dark and damp corner, which we had to stop and take a picture of. They look like button mushrooms, but we haven’t a clue if they’re edible or not.]